No Wings to Fly (37 page)

Where was Joel now, she wondered. He too, like Tom, had been out of her life for such a long time. Her last sight of him had been on the station platform at Hanborough, when she had thrust her address into his hand.

Three and a half years. So much time had gone by. And what had she to show for it, that passing time which, although sometimes fleeting, had on so many occasions crawled by in her solitude? Most girls of her age were married by now, or were at least promised – and of those married young women, many were mistresses of their own homes, with babies to care for. Lily, for all her ambitions, had little to show for the time. Granted, she had enjoyed her work at the Aclands’, but that would soon be over, and unless she found new employment soon she would become destitute. She had taken so much goodwill and kindness from Miss Elsie, and indeed, she reckoned, she was still in her debt.

The thought came to her of her stepmother. Lily did not correspond with her in any but the most cursory terms. On occasion she wrote a short letter, enclosing a small amount of money for Dora – money that she could ill afford – and her stepmother would reply with grudging thanks, but other than that there was no communication between them. For Lily it was not a matter of regret.

The band played on, but the music had changed. The march had finished and now the tune being played was that of a popular music-hall song, ‘The Boy on the Quay’, some of the words of which went through Lily’s head as she sat there. She looked up at the clock. It was time she set off to catch her train.

‘It had to come sooner or later – but you knew that.’

Miss Elsie looked across her desk at Lily, who sat in the chair facing her, an open newspaper on her knees.

‘Yes, of course you’re right,’ Lily said. ‘The girls are of an age where they need proper schooling, and to mix with other children. As you say, it was only a matter of time. I suppose I’m lucky I kept the post as long as I did.’

It was almost six-fifteen, and Lily had not long arrived at Rowanleigh. On entering the house she had soon joined Miss Elsie in her study where she handed over the rent money and told of her visits to the Villas’ occupants. After speaking a little of the two elderly tenants, she had given the dismaying news of having received notice of the termination of her employment.

‘Well, there’s no doubt that you were successful in your work,’ Miss Elsie said now, ‘so you can be sure you’ll get excellent references.’ She took a sip from a little glass of sherry, then took her tobacco pouch from a drawer. Lily watched as she efficiently rolled a cigarette and lighted it with a match.

‘So – you’ve got four weeks left with the Aclands,’ Miss Elsie said, blowing out smoke. ‘You can’t afford to waste them.’

‘No, I certainly can’t.’

Miss Elsie shook her head. ‘Unfortunately I should think the best posts will have been taken by now, and I don’t doubt there’ll be other young women in the same boat as
you – all desperately searching around to see what’s on offer as they lose their pupils to schools. You’ll have to look sharp.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Have you told Mrs Thorne you’ll be leaving soon?’

‘Yes, I have, and I’m sorry for her sake. I know she needs the money.’

Miss Elsie nodded in sympathy. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘if you find a position around here, and they’re happy to have a daily, visiting governess, your room will always be here for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Lily was, as always, touched by the woman’s kindness.

Miss Elsie gestured with her cigarette towards the newspaper in Lily’s lap. ‘Did you find anything in the
Echo
?’

‘There’s one that looks a possibility,’ Lily said, ‘but it’s in Little Wickenham.’ She picked up the paper, already folded back, and held it out across the desk.

Miss Elsie took it and cast her eyes over the advertisement Lily had marked. ‘Little Wickenham’s a good way off,’ she said, ‘but there’s not that much on offer, is there? Are you going to apply?’

‘Yes. I shall write today.’

‘Good.’ Miss Elsie put the newspaper down on the desk and got to her feet. ‘Come and sit round here and write your letter now. There’s no time like the present. I’ve got to go down and help with the dinner.’ She pressed out the remains of her cigarette in a glass ashtray and waved away the lingering smoke. ‘There’s writing paper and envelopes in the drawer – and stamps too, so your letter can go off right away.’ She moved towards the door. ‘Now I must go down to the kitchen. Give Mrs Nessant a hand.’

As Miss Elsie opened the door, Lily said, ‘I heard from my brother today.’

‘Oh, you did?’ Miss Elsie turned in the doorway. ‘Was it good news?’

‘Yes, indeed. He’s leaving London to come back to Wiltshire.’

‘Well, that
is
good news.’

‘He’s leaving today. He’ll write again as soon as he’s back.’

‘He’ll be looking for a job, of course, once he gets here.’

‘Yes – though it shouldn’t be too hard to find one, he says. Not at this time of year.’

‘Well, let’s hope so, and I hope he’ll be close by – for
your
sake.’

With her words, Miss Elsie went through onto the landing. Lily heard the click of the latch as the door closed, and then all was silence again.

After a moment or two she sat down at the desk and took from the drawer some writing paper and an envelope. Then, with the newspaper beside her, she set to writing her letter in answer to the advertisement. When it was done she made a copy for her records, then wrote out the envelope. Minutes later it was sealed and stamped.

That task done, she took Tom’s letter from her bag and read it again. The address of the London hotel he had given was quite unfamiliar to her. She did not know how long he might have been there – but this was typical of the situation where his time in London had been concerned. She had heard from him only very infrequently since he had gone to the capital. For one thing he had never stayed at one address for any length of time, and in some instances he had written without including an address. Now, though, things were going to be different: he was coming back to his roots. Even now, he was on the way.

She sat back in the chair. The smell of Miss Elsie’s cigarette hung in the air. The only sound she could hear was the sweet song of a blackbird, coming from the
branches of the rowan tree. Her feelings were a mixture of emotions. In spite of her joy at hearing from Tom again, she had a feeling of melancholy at the uncertainty of her position. Coming back to the present out of her reverie, she took a pair of scissors from a pot on the desk, cut out the advertisement from the newspaper, then dropped the discarded remains into the waste basket.

There were various books and ledgers collected on the shelves beside the desk, some standing on their ends, and others in small piles. Her eyes wandering around the room, she idly scanned the contents of the shelves – and then found her gaze held.

The sudden focus of her attention was one particular volume that lay in the middle of a small stack, a volume holding her with its strangely familiar appearance. It was fairly large in size, with a brown binding, part of which, along the spine, had come loose.

She sat there with her eyes fixed upon it, aware, for some unknown reason, that it held a significance for her. And then it came to her: it was the volume in which Miss Elsie had written at the time of Georgie’s going. She could see it again as it had lain open on the table in the drawing room; see it again as Miss Elsie, the cleric and she, Lily herself, had gone to it and written on its pages.

For some seconds Lily continued to sit there, her eyes on the ledger, and then she reached out, lifted it down and laid it on the desk.

A moment later she was lifting the cover, and as she turned the pages she saw that the ledger held records and details of factors and events in Miss Elsie’s life, the entries entered in her familiar sloping hand. Each entry was dated, the first pages going back several years. Lily’s eyes took in a variety of accounts; notes on employees at the house, the maids and the gardeners; the purchase of a new cob for the trap, and repairs to the trap itself. She found details and
information relevant to the painting of the house’s exterior, and here and there notes on the Villas and their tenants.

It was not long before she found herself looking at a series of entries concerning the young women who had come to Rowanleigh for their confinements. She read their names and ages, and home addresses, and the brief details that were given of the births of their babies. There, too, were entries dealing with the infants’ adoptions.

Several pages on, she came to an entry concerning herself.

As she sat looking at the page before her it seemed that everything around her was stilled. Even the blackbird had, for a spell, paused in his singing. In the silence she sat bent over the ledger, staring down at the page.

In Miss Elsie’s angular script she read her own name, her age, her address, and the name of her father. There too was given the date of her arrival at Rowanleigh and an approximate date of the expected birth of her child.

She turned the pages, reading more notes on the Villas in Corster, others dealing with repairs to the roofs, and a brief entry concerning Miss Elsie’s illness, and Lily’s nursing of her.

And then, on a page headed with the date 3 May 1867, she read of her own confinement, and the birth of her son:

‘Lily Mary Clair, delivered safely of a boy. Mother doing well, but baby, though well-formed, presently rather sickly and needing careful tending. No cause for alarm, however, and with his mother is in good hands.’

For some seconds Lily sat riveted by the written words, almost holding her breath. Then, becoming newly conscious of her act of prying, she turned the page. And there she saw – the momentous event reduced to a few lines on the paper – the act of her son’s being taken away. There was the name of the cleric, and of the plain-looking woman who had accompanied him and who had taken the baby into her
arms and walked with him out of the door. There too were the signatures of herself, and Miss Elsie and the Reverend, Mr Iliffe.

She sat there for long seconds, gazing down at the page, her eyes scanning and rescanning the lines, almost as if she were willing them to tell her more. Then, with a sigh, accepting that there was nothing more to learn, she turned the leaf. To her surprise the next entry also concerned herself. Under the date: 3 July 1867, Miss Elsie had written: ‘It is three weeks since the infant was taken, and sorry to say that LC is taking it quite badly. However, still early days yet, and given time she will find acceptance.’

There was a piece of paper lying on the open pages, a small folded sheet. Lily took it up, unfolded it and read what was written.

And as she read it through, her breath caught in her throat, and her heart began to pound in her breast. In a round, careful hand, was written:

Lily sat staring at the letter. So he was living in
Happerfell. Her son, her boy, was living in Happerfell. Georgie – he was so close. He was living so close by. Her eyes moved from the name of the village to take in the name of the man that was written there: Soameson.

She continued to gaze at the letter in her hand, taking in its few, though dynamic, details, and then folded it and laid it back on the page. As she did so she heard from below the faint sound of Miss Elsie’s voice. Quickly she shut the ledger and returned it to its place on the shelf. Moments later footsteps sounded on the landing and then the door was opening and Miss Elsie was standing there.

‘So,’ she said, ‘did you get your letter done?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Lily picked up the envelope. ‘All ready to go in the post.’

‘Good. Well done.’ Miss Elsie pressed her hands together. ‘So – now – come on down and let’s have some dinner.’

That night Lily lay wakeful, turning in her bed and opening her eyes to look into the dark of the summer night. For so long she had wondered where the child had gone. Now she knew. He was just a few miles away, living with his new family, regarding two people whom she had never met as his father and mother; and not even aware that she, Lily, even existed.

Still with no reply to her letter to Little Wickenham by Friday evening, Lily concluded that the advertiser was not interested. She was relieved to find, however, that there were two positions being advertised in that day’s
Gazette
. One was in the village of Upinshall, and the other in Seston, and that evening she sat in her little room and wrote off in reply to both advertisements. She posted the letters on the way to Yew Tree House the next morning.

She had more on her mind, however, than the finding of a suitable post, vital as it was. All through the week there
had stayed at the forefront of her thoughts the words she had seen written on the letter in Miss Elsie’s ledger. She could not banish them, and throughout that morning they came back to her, again and again.

As the time wore on she found it more and more difficult to keep her mind on her work. Even as it was, Saturday mornings were never the best of times with her pupils, for they were always conscious that the teaching day was short and their leisure time near, and there was always a certain lack of concentration. This morning, though, the lack of concentration was Lily’s, and when twelve-thirty came and she said goodbye to the girls, there was no doubt in her mind as to what she would do.

From Yew Tree House she made her way straight to the station and there caught a train to Corster. On arrival, she alighted and after a wait of some twenty minutes boarded a train that would take her to Pilching. From there it was a short journey by fly to Happerfell.